


trade a house or two

by bellygunnr



Series: start it up / put him in [2]
Category: Half-Life
Genre: Airports, Autistic Character, Gen, Holidays, Missing Scene, Moving, Mute Gordon Freeman, Pre-Canon, Trans Male Character, john freeman real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr
Summary: Gordon is 16, his brother 14, when they move away from their mother's for good. It's better for both of them, but he can't help but feel anxious and overwhelmed all the same.
Relationships: Gordon Freeman & Isaac Kleiner, Gordon Freeman & John Freeman
Series: start it up / put him in [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810111
Comments: 1
Kudos: 71





	trade a house or two

_ December 23rd, 2009 _

It’s frigid when you and your brother land in Boston. The night sky is overcast with thick cloud cover that tumbles over itself with some high-speed current some fifteen thousand feet above, spitting bits of snow and ice onto the tarmac and decorating your shoulders with the frost. You try to stop to catch your breath, take in the world around you, but your brother has better ideas. He gathers up his things and is off like a shot, following the meandering line of fellow passengers back into the airport. You pursue him, unwilling to lose sight of him so quickly.

He disappears inside three beats ahead of you. You’re forced to stall and wait as a larger family follows suit, shepherding themselves inside and letting the door swing shut behind. With numb hands, you coax it back open, sighing when your glasses fog up. Afraid to move, you press yourself against the wall, out of the way of everyone, to wipe them clean. The heat of the airport coaxes blood back into your hands and face, creating a tingling soreness. How cold it must have been, for this to happen so quickly. You’re not eager to brave it again.

“Gordon! Gordon, I found Uncle Isaac! Come on!” 

Your brother’s voice is loud, rising easily over the din of the crowd. You locate him easily once your glasses are back on, which saps a surprising amount of tension from your shoulders. He’s a bright yellow beacon against muted blues and grays and reds, rapidly approaching. The wheels of your suitcase squeak as you walk to meet him halfway.

Uncle Isaac. You can’t help but feel excited, relieved, and a little bit guilty all at once. You’d be able to exist freely here, but your brother had been happy at home. He had had friends, a team, and an expanding understanding of where he fit in the world. You’re ashamed to admit that you have no idea what he thinks about this, but you’re glad that you didn’t have to leave him behind. You’ve tolerated, even survived, many things so far, but losing your brother-- that would have been the final straw. That would have broken you.

You hope he settles in fine here. You hope that he doesn’t hate you, or resent you, for breaking apart the fine steps of Seattle. For taking the family bonds and breaking them, even as your brain supplies evidence to the contrary. 

You feel anxious and sick and cold, now, even as sweat builds up beneath your coat and scarf and coats your palms. At some point, you’ve come to a stop, and both John and Uncle Isaac are peering at you with concern. You smile despite yourself. 

“I’m okay,” you sign, hoping that that’s what they’re looking for. 

“It’s good to see you both in fine spirits, then,” Uncle Isaac says, smiling. “Do either of you have gloves? It’s terribly cold outside.”

“We forgot to pack them,” John admits. “So no! But it’s okay, we have pockets!” 

As if you both weren’t hauling suitcases. You shrug, trying to look apologetic. 

“Well, then you’re both going to wait here while I pull the car up front. It’s a bit of a walk and I don’t want either of you to get hurt,” Isaac says decisively. “Well, not here, but at the front doors.”

“Fine,” John says, frowning.

You can only nod agreement as you both fall into step behind your uncle. He’s a tall man, scraping six feet, with brown hair swept over to hide a receding hairline. He’s skinny, but looks bigger with all the winter gear. An electronic board states that the temperature outside is negative, and the snow is getting heavy.

You’re probably very lucky your flight wasn’t cancelled or aborted.

You rest your arms and head down on your suitcase as once again, you’re stopped, left to wait with your brother as Uncle Kleiner braves the outside. The flight was long, extended to a single day to three because of inclimate weather not unlike this. 

“It’s good to be getting out of airports,” John says, affecting a similar posture. His voice is muffled from where his face rests into a poofy arm sleeve, stifling a yawn. “I can’t wait to lie down in a bed. And it’s Christmas break, so we won’t be starting school right away, either.”

It was the holidays, wasn’t it? You suddenly feel overwhelmed all over again. Without thinking, you reach out to grab John’s shoulder, grounding yourself on the solidness of his presence. The texture of his coat is smooth, damp where snow had melted into it. You pull at the fabric, observing how the overhead lights shine dully off it.

“You good, Gordon? You’ve been acting weird,” John says, leveling you with a look.

The look said many things. You weren’t willing to acknowledge them, so you just bury your head, even as it forces the bridge of your glasses to dig into your skin.

A heavy weight wraps around your shoulders. John’s arm, then his torso, pressing right against your frame. A hug, you register a second later.

“Come on, it’s gonna be okay, man. We’ll get to Isaac’s and it’s gonna be okay. He’s a doctor, you know. Doctors always know best, or whatever.”

John’s voice is soothing overhead, even as it cracks. You can’t suppress a snort at the humor of it, earning you a half-hearted thump of mock indignation. It’s a pleasant distraction from the crowded, noisy airport, the din of which had been grating on your brain for what felt like hours now. It made you tense and itchy, compounding with the anxiety already playing at heart.

“I kinda wish he would have just let us walk with him,” John continues. “It’s loud in here, and those lights are gonna drive me insane.”

The hum of electronics was a phantom sound that haunted you both. Right now, you weren’t willing to strain for it, so you just tighten your grip on John’s shoulder. You can’t help but admire John’s ability to weather the sheer amount of sensory input without breaking down.

Then again, he’s always been good at it. You offer him a slight smile.

He smiles back, patting your opposite arm, before turning to the glass doors ahead. “Uncle’s back. He has a big car…”

You both gather your things up, already in motion even as Isaac appears from out of his car. It is a big vehicle-- a four-door SUV of some kind, a white that gets lost in the building flurry. You can’t help but feel anxious, but you put your suitcases in the back and climb inside. 

John takes front, leaving you to take a back seat. This is not as bad as Isaac seems keen to believe. You sink into the seat as the vehicle rolls into motion, smooth and guided by fierce headlights. 

You don’t fall asleep on the way to your new home, like John does. You let your head fall against the cold tinted window and watch the cityscape transform beneath the snowfall, blurry shapes and street lamps. You run your fingers through your curls as you do so, a constant, rhythmic motion that steadies your building anxiety.

* * *

Isaac’s home is a wooden apartment slotted between stone shops, worn down on the front but pleasant inside. It’s a dusty interior with hardwood floors and old furniture, well-taken care of to your untrained eye. Curtains and plastic are fastened to the windows facing the outside, something you’ve never seen before. To keep the cold out, Uncle Isaac says upon catching your eye. 

“But it’s warmer inside, so come along now,” he says, ushering you both into the kitchen. “Your rooms are upstairs. Are you boys hungry?”

“I’m not,” John says, already heading for the stairs. The clock on the wall, just above the stove, reads close to one in the morning.

You’re not hungry either, so you wordlessly climb up the stairs with your brother. The suitcases thunk out of sync with each other, creating an awkward beat to walk to. You feel a little bad for brushing off your uncle like this, but you’re tired. Everyone’s tired, really. 

You follow your brother into the first room without much thought. The door to a second room is clearly ajar, but you don’t want to be alone just yet. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after. You’re glad John doesn’t mention it.

But you tap his shoulder, fetch his attention, threaten to break the spell.

“Are you okay?” you ask as soon as he looks at you.

“Just tired,” he says, yawning. “What about you?”

“...Okay,” you say after a moment.

The wind can be heard outside as you both shuck off your winter gear, tossing it all aside with the carelessness of travelers finally arriving home. The bed, a narrow twin, creaks as John flops down into it. The frame shudders as you follow suit, huffing as the depressed mattress just sends you sliding against your brother.

“Move over,” he grunts, shoving you aside. You try to, clinging to the outer edge with the spare pillow as purchase. “Good night, Gordon.”

The bed creaks with one last adjustment. You set your glasses aside, surrendering clarity for blurry shapes, and fall asleep the instant your head hits the pillow. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to better hammer out Gordon's backstory and character. Expect more like this, especially for YFLTL.


End file.
